English Beauty - Danish Psycho
by Asgerr
Summary: "I'm sure those masked bastards are planning to go there. Thousands upon thousands of unsuspecting, intoxicated civilians? It's like Hamleys for terrorists." When (in his rightful opinion) the Ministry cocks up again, England decides to put his foot down, even if it means dragging an annoyingly virile Viking along with him. DenEng&Harmony. More possible pairings in the future.
1. Thriller

**_I listened to Fall Out Boy whilst writing this, if you an explanation for the crappy title owo;; Enjoy? If at all possible? Also! The "fight scene" in this chapter is my first ever attempt at something of that ilk, so please forgive me if it's shit!_**

**_Disclaimer: Neither of the fictional series used in this piece of fanwork belong to me. They belong to Hidekaz Himaruya and JK Rowling respectively._**

* * *

><p><em>1pm<em>

_Kiel, Schleswig_-_Holstein, Germany_

"It will be fine." Arthur murmured, "Perfect, even. As long as Alfred doesn't find out."

"As long as I don't find out what?"

The Brit whirled around, staring down the hall at the American's face, "The fuck are you doing here!?" he exclaimed, a little more harsh than he'd anticipated, but he wasn't about to take his words back.

"I could say the same for you!" Alfred shot back, "The meeting's under way, asshole. And yet hear you are, cosying up to Denmark no less. What are you doing with him, huh? What does it have to do about me?"

"That's none of your business, is it, Alfie-boy?" the Dane spat, "Maybe we're planning a surprise party! Did you think of that?"

Alfred bristled, and continued walking down the hall. Sticking his tongue out as he walked past them and back into the meeting room, slamming the door behind him.

"Ooh…touchy!" Mathias called after him, only to receive a slap on the arm from Arthur.

"He's just a kid going through a lot of shit. But he's suspicious now, so we should be more careful," the Brit explained, casting a forlorn stare at the closed double doors.

"You're too protective over him!" Mathias snorted, nudging his friend's arm, "He's - what - one-thousand now?"

"Nearing three-hundred," Arthur corrected, "You celebrate his birthday, don't you? At Rebild Bakker? You should know better!"

"Hey! I have more important things on my mind than that American's birthday. Like the impending mass genocide of muggles and muggleborns, or how hot your ass looks in those trousers," the Dane winked.

"O-Oi! Don't be so blasé about stuff like that!" Arthur reprimanded, slapping the taller's arm again, "Anyway. You understand the plan, right?"

"I've got it," the Dane confirmed, serious for once, "You want to meet in Pickering?"

"Two days from now, yes," Arthur replied, "I'm sure those masked bastards are planning to go there. Thousands upon thousands of unsuspecting, intoxicated civilians? It's like Hamleys for terrorists."

Denmark snorted at the blond's chosen analogy. Shaking his head a little, he peered down the corridor behind him to the meeting room.

"They might be wondering where we are…" he muttered.

Arthur shook his head, "They think I'm sucking your dick in the loo, trust me. Perverts..."

Mathias leered at the shorter nation from the side, waggling his eyebrows, "How about we make that fantasy a reality, hm?"

England rolled his eyes, grabbing the Dane's red tie and dragging him off in the direction of the toilets.

"Fine, but we have to make it quick," Arthur sighed, failing to notice Mathias' discrete fist pump.

* * *

><p><em>5am<em>

_Lancaster railway station, Lancashire, England_

"Fourty fucking pounds for a train ticket," Denmark grumbled in annoyance, "I better at least be able to watch the game."

A tall, gaunt man in a suit and tie, with briefcase in tow, side-eyed the Nordic nation with a pitying expression. Mathias caught his eye and sighed, kicking a rock and rocking back onto his heels.

"Where you off to at this hour?" the man inquired, shifting a hand in his pocket.

The Dane eyed him with caution, before turning and mimicking the Northerner's pose.

"Off to York," he replied, "You?"

"Same," the gaunt man replied, "I'm Daniel Matthews, from Manchester, you?"

"Mathias Østergård, from Århus," he muttered, giving the man yet another once-over. Shabby, hadn't shaved this morning, and there was some toothpaste smeared just under his lower lip.

"Uh - 'Uhstergoord', did you say?" Daniel questioned, trying to wade his way through the foreign name, spitting it out like treacle.

"Østergård," Mathias corrected, "Don't worry - I don't expect you to pronounce it."

"Oh, I'm not worrying," Daniel replied, yanking his hand out of his pocket and revealing his wand, "_Confringo_!"

Mathias darted to the side away from the tracks, only just missing the blast of flame. He whipped his own wand out, and shot a jet of water at the newborn fire, causing it to fizzle out, before darting behind a stone pillar.

"_Diffindo!_" Matthews yelled just as Mathias attempted to peer around his hiding spot. He cursed in Danish, bringing his right hand up to cradle his now split cheek.

"_Expelliarmus!_" the Dane shot back, grinning in recognition of his victory. Daniel's wand shot out of his hand, and he reached his own out to grasp the captured wand.

"Fuck!" the Northerner swore, picking himself up and running at Denmark. Mathias jumped out of the way at the last second and slammed his boot into his back, sending his assailant sprawling onto the floor.

The nation pinpointed a rumble in the distance, recognising it as that of a train. He cursed, glancing around at the mess their small brawl had made. He heard a groan below him, and turned to watch Daniel attempt to pull himself up.

"_Incarcerous_," the Dane muttered, binding the man in ropes. He waved his wand again, this time picking Matthews up and placing the man in the far corner of the station. He cast a disillusionment charm on the man, and used a quick scourgify to clean up the worst of the damage. Surveying his work, he nodded to himself, and pocketed both wands. He strode with purpose to the edge of the platform, just as the train rolled into the station. Oh, Odin help him, England was going to be so pissed when he heard about this one...

* * *

><p><strong>Confringo - A spell that causes whatever it hits to burts into flames<strong>

**Diffindo - A slashing/cutting jinx**

**Expelliarmus - Causes the receiver's wand to fly out of their hand**

**Accio - A summoning spell**

**Incarcerous - Binds the receiver in ropes**

**Disillusionment Charm - Causes the receiver to blend into their surroundings, becoming nearly invisible**

**Scourgify - A cleaning spell**

* * *

><p><strong>EDIT 2401/2015 - 00:34AM - Minor changes to dialogue**

**EDIT 31/01/2015 10:44AM - Major changes to dialogue and narrative**


	2. Thnks fr th Mmrs

_**First of all, I want you to know how thankful I am for the support you've given this so far! I'm quite surprised there's this many people interested, the pairing is quite unknown and I'm not a particularly great author, so thank you very much! I've made some changes to the last chapter, so please check it out if you have time! I'm sorry this took so long! Please bear in mind that this chapter was written on my phone :)**_

* * *

><p><em><strong> For CanadaFans - This story takes place during the Goblet of Fire, so right now it's 1994 :)<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Disclaimer: Neither of the fictional series used in this piece of fanwork belong to me. They belong to Hidekaz Himaruya and JK Rowling respectively.<strong>_

* * *

><p><em>8:40am<em>

_Pickering Railway Station, North Yorkshire__, __England _

"WHAT!?"

A group of tourists nearby jumped and turned to stare at the two blond nations. England's eyes were wide, and he'd covered his mouth with his hand, clearly marking who the outburst had come from.

"Arthur!" hissed Denmark, grabbing England around his waist and shooting a grin at their spectators before hustling the shell-shocked nation away, "We can't cause a scene! _Sure_, a Death Eater assaulted me in Lancaster, but I'm here to tell the tale, right? You can worry over me later - if one attacked me, there's probably a hundred more closing in as we speak!"

The Viking had said all of this in a harsh whisper, so quiet that England (who had frozen up and blushed when the well-built nation had snagged his waist) almost didn't hear the Dane, but at the mention of the probable danger they were facing, he snapped out of it.

"You're right," he nodded, realising Mathias had successfuly directed them to his car, an attractive black _Mazda, _"after you, _Herre _Østergård."

The Dane rolled his eyes, but ducked into the passenger's side, "Don't drive crazy."

England fluttered his eyelashes before starting the car, "I'm always careful!"

* * *

><p><em>9:32am<em>

_North Yorkshire Moors, North Yorkshire, England _

Around an hour later, Mathias crawled out of the car, "Why do I always let you drive...?" he pondered weakly, mostly to himself.

"Because you _love _me," the Brit sang, slamming his door shut and smiling.

"Do that more often," Denmark called, shutting his own door and jogging over to Arthur.

"Do what more often?"

"The happy thing you're doing with your face," was the Viking's reply, pulling England's cheeks into a brighter smile in order to punctuate his point.

"Alright, alright," Arthur answered, waving Mathias' hands away, "Now, we've got to find a house belonging to the Roberts family..."

Mathias bumped his head against Arthur's as they set off, "Muggle?" he asked, slightly concerned.

"You know my ministry has never had much...tact," England sighed, elbowing the taller nation. "Nosy."

"Poor things...they'll have headaches for weeks, all those memory charms..."

Arthur sighed, looking down, before hesitantly leaning into Mathias' side.

Denmark started, stiffening and gazing down at Arthur, thinking, remembering, then gently wrapping an arm around him.

* * *

><p><em>1018AD<em>

_London, Angleland_

"...Come again?"

Leifr blushed, fidgeting and looking away. Cærna's questioning gaze was cutting into him, and he wasn't sure how to react.

"Danmörk?"

"I said - I said, will you marry me, Angleland?"

This was Cærna's turn to blush, stuttering before finally getting his words out, "Y-You're sure...?"

"Um, yes. No. Wait, yes. Is that a yes? Uh - "

Cærna chewed his lip as Leifr continued to ramble, before stepping forward and gently kissing the Viking. Stepping back, he allowed himself a smile, taking in the Northman's bewildered stare, "Yes. I will marry you, Leifr."

* * *

><p><em>1042AD<em>

_London, Angleland _

Cærna stared down his husband, his green eyes hard, but sorrowful, "You must leave, Danmörk."

"But I - I thought we we were husbands! The same nation, the same king!"

"We were, Danmörk, but no longer," Cærna's voice was firm yet quiet, "We both knew it would not last forever, and here we are, at the end. My people want independence...I have to give them what they want."

Leifr stepped forward, but Cærna kicked the gangplank allowing the Dane passage into the murky Thames water below, "I can't let you stay here, _ástin mín, _I belong to you no longer."

Angleland desperately searched Danmörk's face for a sign of understanding, but all he could find was anger and confusion. He needed Leifr to understand - Cærna loved him, it was Angleland that did not, was the concept so hard to grasp? His people wanted Danmörk out, Cærna wanted Leifr to stay.

The men in the drekkar longship began to row, on their way back to Danmörk, leaving Leifr to stretch out his hand "_Hvers vegna_!?"

"I'm sorry, Leifr!" he cried, "I won this time, I'm sorry!"

"_Þú getur ekki_!" The Viking sobbed in reply as his ship left Cærna's earshot.

* * *

><p><em>10:10AM<em>

_Quidditch World Cup Campground, North Yorkshire, England _

"...thias! Mathias Østergård!"

The Dane jumped out of his reverie, staring down at the shorter nation.

"You're hurting me."

Denmark loosened his grip, then, as he became more aware of his surroundings, elected to completely remove his arm from England's waist, staring around in wonder.

"I haven't been to the World Cup since 1886..." Mathias murmured in wonder. All around them, wizards and witches of all kinds of ages and nationalities ran and flew and played without a care in the world. Arthur's concerned gaze turned into a smile, and he gently took hold of Denmark's wrist, pulling him towards a run-down stone shack at the front of the chaos.

"Sweden versus Liechtenstein, right?" the blond asked as they walked walked.

"Yeah..." muttered Mathias, distracted by a crying child who'd fallen off his toy broomstick.

England smiled fondly, then turned to face a dazed man standing on the doorstep of the shack, "Mr Roberts?"

"That's me, and you are?"

"Kirkland - booked a few weeks back?"

"Aye?" the Muggle mused, consulting a sheet tacked to his door, "Ah, yeah. You're next to that wood over there," he told them, gesturing to a foreboding treeline on the other side of the campsite, "You paying now?"

"Yeah," England replied, producing a pre-counted wad of cash from his pocket.

As he handed it over, a voice behind him spoke up, "Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill."

* * *

><p><strong>Memory Charm - Used to wipe the victim's memory<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Danish<strong>

**Herre - Mister **

* * *

><p><strong>Icelandic (Used in place of Norse)<strong>

**Danmörk - Denmark**

**Ástin mín - My love**

**Hvers vegna - Why**

**Þú getur ekki - You can't **

* * *

><p><em>Corrections (if any) are appreciated.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>EDIT 0503/2015 - 13:28PM - Minor changes to dialogue and end notes**


End file.
